


nothing left to lose

by hakyeonni



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Artists, M/M, Muses, Recreational Drug Use, by that I mean they share a joint once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: how taekwoon found his muse, and how jaehwan learned to let go.





	nothing left to lose

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: this was inspired by the music video for marry the night by lady gaga even though it has no relevance or bearing on the plot or setting of this fic. I don't know why it inspired this. It just did.
> 
> angst ahead. you have been warned.

They’re just coming out of the subway near the lecture theater, Jaehwan with coke in hand as he turns back to ask Sanghyuk where he’s going after this, when he runs smack-bang into someone in front of him, spilling his drink everywhere and sending the stranger staggering back a few steps.

“Oh, hey, Taekwoon,” Hakyeon is saying from over Jaehwan’s shoulder, but he’s too busy staring at the stranger to take much notice of that.

Tall, thin, pretty hands. Dark eyes that pierce straight through Jaehwan, see down to his soul, or so it seems. Hair that’s falling in his eyes. A slight smile stretching at the corners of his pouty lips. Milky skin that looks soft, and Jaehwan blushes. “Sorry,” he says, because the stranger’s lovely white jumper is stained with coke and he blushes even harder when he sees the telltale logo stitched on the breast. “Ah, shit, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.” A pause. The stranger seems to be drinking him in, his gaze hot, and Jaehwan feels mildly uncomfortable. “I know how you can pay me back, though.”

“How?”

“Let me draw you.”

//

Jaehwan only goes because Hakyeon promises Taekwoon isn’t a serial killer (“we took the same history class last semester,” he explains afterwards, when he’s dabbing Jaehwan down with a damp napkin. “He’s a bit quiet, keeps to himself, but he’s really into his drawings. I saw his sketchbook.”) He figures it’s a better option than paying Taekwoon back with money, since he cannot afford to replace that jumper—and anyway, how hard can it be? All he has to do is sit there for a few hours and then leave. Easy.

Except it’s not easy, because the moment he knocks on the door Taekwoon drags him inside by the wrist, a pencil already in his mouth, and shoves him towards a stool in the middle of his living room. His room is messy, clothes scattered everywhere, and Jaehwan has to step over everything while being careful not to trip. He only manages to get a glance of the drawings pasted all over the walls before he turns and sits, putting his hands on his knees and doing his best to look demure.

“Slump.” Taekwoon’s directions are curt, his voice clipped, and Jaehwan wonders if maybe he’s made a mistake coming here. “Take your jacket off. Roll your sleeves up. Yes, like that. Spread your legs a little wider. Stay.”

It’s not as easy as it appears, because after a few minutes his arms begin to ache, and after half an hour he swears he’s going to start sweating from how much it hurts. He tries to move, but Taekwoon just barks that command again—“stay,” like Jaehwan is a fucking _dog_ —and so he stills, gritting his teeth and thinking of all the things he can buy with the money he’s saved. An extra cup of ramen tomorrow. Some pens from the stationery shop. Another can of coke, to keep him awake through his nine am lecture. An ice cream for Sanghyuk if he does Jaehwan’s homework for him—

“You can move.”

He sighs and slumps sideways off the stool, ending up face-down on Taekwoon’s carpet but not really having the gall to care. His muscles are too busy screaming at him for him to pay any attention to that.

“Can I see it?” he mutters when he’s recovered enough to sit up, reaching for his jacket and slinging it back over his shoulders.

Taekwoon’s mouth quirks up in that smile again as he watches, and Jaehwan does not miss how his eyes linger on Jaehwan’s hands—but his gaze is showing nothing more than mild interest, so he puts any untoward thoughts out of his mind. “No,” he replies, and stands up and stretches. “But would you mind sitting for me again?”

Jaehwan is prepared to say no until Taekwoon leans back, his shirt riding up to expose a thin strip of smooth belly, and he shivers.

“Sure.”

//

This time he tries bringing coffee, figuring maybe if he bribes Taekwoon he’ll choose a more comfortable position for him to sit in. It doesn’t work, of course. Taekwoon takes one look at the coffee and raises an eyebrow before directing him to sit on that damned stool once again, only this time—

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?” Jaehwan squeaks, wrapping his arms around himself like Taekwoon’s about to leap across the room and rip the fabric from his body. “Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to?”

Jaehwan just looks at him for a long moment before getting to his feet, slowly, and taking off his jacket, slowly. “This isn’t you angling towards getting me naked, is it? Because I didn’t sign up for naked life drawing.”

“If I wanted to see you naked, I would just ask,” Taekwoon replies, and Jaehwan is so shocked at that that all he can do is blink. “And instead I’m asking for you shirtless. So, no, I don’t want to see you naked.”

His first reaction to those words is, strangely, disappointment, but he doesn’t give himself time to dwell on the why and instead gets into the position that Taekwoon tells him to—crouching on the stool, gripping it with both hands, balancing on the balls of his feet. It’s fucking agony after a few minutes, but this time he’s instructed to look at Taekwoon in the eyes, and it’s this that makes it bearable.

Taekwoon changes when he draws. He’s already intense as it is, but at least it’s easy to deal with; there’s always a hint of a smile on his lips, like he’s constantly laughing at you. But here, his pencil flying over the paper, he’s staring at Jaehwan so vehemently he almost feels naked after all. He’s not smiling now. Instead he looks deadly serious, his gaze clinical as he takes Jaehwan in, and it’s so fascinating to watch that even though his back and legs and arms are killing him, the time flies by, and before he knows it Taekwoon shakes himself out of his trance and nods, satisfied. “You can get up now.”

Jaehwan tries, but his legs seem to have gone to sleep, so when he does he nearly topples off the stool—saved only by Taekwoon catching him at the last second, pulling him upright with a grip that’s stronger than it looks. They end up face-to-face, Jaehwan’s heart racing out of his chest, and he tells himself it’s just because of the shock. It’s definitely not because of the way Taekwoon’s eyes flick down to his lips, and it’s definitely not because of how warm his hand is, wrapped around Jaehwan’s bicep. It’s not because he sways a little closer, like he cannot help himself. It’s the shock. He swears.

“Thank you,” Taekwoon says eventually, stepping back and letting go of Jaehwan’s arm like it’s burned him. “You’re a really good model, you know.”

“I don’t do anything except sit there,” Jaehwan points out as he’s pulling on his shirt, his skin feeling prickly all over.

Taekwoon just turns away, but Jaehwan is pretty sure he’s smiling. “That’s exactly why you’re a good model.”

//

He doesn’t even bother bringing coffee, the third time. Their previous two sessions were in the morning, facilitated by Taekwoon’s weird class schedule and Jaehwan’s absolute lack of prior appointments, but this time Taekwoon has requested him just before sunset so that’s when he turns up, a little confused.

“Come in,” Taekwoon murmurs, and Jaehwan can tell he’s instantly distracted—well, more distracted than usual. He glances at the sky as he pulls Jaehwan inside, pointing at a ratty sofa that’s appeared out of nowhere against the back wall, the leather soft and worn. “Lie down. Ah, shirt off.”

Jaehwan does as he’s told, figuring it’s best not to argue (or make a _Titanic_ joke, as tempting as it may be) when Taekwoon is clearly in a weird mood. The way he lies down is apparently incorrect, though, because then Taekwoon’s in his personal space, grabbing his arm and lifting it above his head, shoving him in the side to get him to scooch over more, gripping his chin and turning his head just-so. Jaehwan jumps at the skin contact, unable to help himself; it’s the first time they’ve touched, _properly_ touched for longer than a few seconds, and when he’s not wearing a shirt it feels stupidly more intimate than it should be. Because, as Taekwoon has made clear, this is not intimate. This is clinical.

But Taekwoon only lets him lie there for a few minutes before getting him up again, clucking his tongue like he’s unhappy. He leads Jaehwan all around the room, posing him this way and that way—at this point he’s starting to feel like a doll, and he _knows_ that if it was anyone else touching him he’d hate it—and getting more and more displeased every time until his brows are furrowed and his eyes darker than Jaehwan has ever seen. “I need something to eat,” he sighs, throwing his sketchbook down on the table. “Hungry?”

“I didn’t realise you ate,” Jaehwan replies, wandering over to Taekwoon’s huge window and peering out. This neighbourhood is nice at this time of evening, and he can see couples everywhere, walking hand-in-hand and enjoying the last light of the sun. “I thought you were a vampire or something.”

“Not a vampire, an artist,” Taekwoon calls from the little kitchen as Jaehwan presses up against the glass. “There’s a difference. So do you want anything?”

Jaehwan shakes his head wordlessly, the cool glass pressing into the skin of his forehead, a welcome respite to the stuffy heat of Taekwoon’s apartment. The only thing he’s hungry for is for Taekwoon to touch him again, and since it’s pointless to think that way, he doesn’t say a word. “Hey, I didn’t realise—” he starts, looking back over his shoulder and cutting himself off.

Taekwoon is standing there, sandwich in hand half-raised to his mouth, his lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Jaehwan can’t do anything but stare and tremble. Taekwoon is looking at him like it’s the first time he’s seen him— _really_ seen him. There is nothing clinical about that stare. It’s pure heat and want and need, and he’s helpless in the face of it, can’t do anything but grip the windowsill and try not to fall over. The orange glow of the sun is bathing Taekwoon in a colour Jaehwan does not have a word for, setting his hair alight and his skin to glowing, and everything in him is screaming at him to _touch!_ to _have!_ when Taekwoon moves, throwing the sandwich carelessly on the table and grabbing his sketchbook once more. “Stay there,” he barks, gliding across the room to grab a box, fishing through it violently. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”

“How am I meant to—”

“Jaehwan!” Taekwoon growls, and he closes his mouth with a snap.

If before Taekwoon was cool and calm, measuring Jaehwan and carefully putting him down on paper, he’s an entirely different person now. He fishes through his box for coloured pencils and draws with a ferocity that leaves Jaehwan wondering how he does not tear straight through the paper; his hand is _flying_ , and as he keeps looking up at Jaehwan his expression does not wane. If anything it gets _more_ heated, and Jaehwan wants to move so fucking badly. But he doesn’t. Because Taekwoon told him to. And with Taekwoon looking the way he does right now, like someone’s lit a fire inside him, the burning sunlight consuming him, Jaehwan would do anything Taekwoon told him to.

When he finishes he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath out, placing his pencils down on the table with slightly shaking hands. “Alright,” he breathes, and Jaehwan slumps. “You can move now.”

“What the hell was that?” Jaehwan says, muffled as he tugs his shirt back over his head. “You looked like you were possessed.”

“Sorry.” Taekwoon actually looks contrite, and it’s adorable. “I get carried away sometimes. When I’m in my element, I mean. It’s like something takes over me and I just _have_ to draw. I have to put things down on paper or I’ll go crazy. It’s like the images are just bursting out of me.”

There’s a long silence where Jaehwan just looks at him evenly. “I see,” he replies, even though he most certainly does not. But that’s the most he’s heard Taekwoon speak in one go before, so he’s not going to rain on his parade. “Can I see the drawing?”

“No.”

Taekwoon flips the sketchbook so it’s face-down.

//

They continue like that for a few more weeks. Taekwoon never gets in a frenzy like that again, but his gazes are no longer so detached; his eyes linger on Jaehwan’s stomach, his hands, and Jaehwan lets himself imagine what that could mean. They don’t meet at sunset again.

“Okay,” Jaehwan says when he turns up at Taekwoon’s door, having been summoned here in the dead of night. It’s a full moon, so it’s not like he has trouble seeing, but still. “It’s a Thursday night, Taekwoon. I know you’re desperate to draw my sexy ass, but I have a life—”

“Shut up,” Taekwoon counters, but it’s light and playful and he’s smiling as he says it. He has his sketchbook in hand, pencil case stuffed under his arm, and he gently propels Jaehwan out the door and back down the steps. “We’re going to the roof. Come on.”

Slightly bewildered, he follows Taekwoon up the flights of stairs, grumbling the whole way about how he’s already being tortured with poses and now he’s being tortured with _exercise_ —and promptly shuts up when they get to the roof, stunned into silence. There’s a picnic blanket there, pillows scattered around, and a chair for Taekwoon to sit in. “You planned this,” he accuses, folding his arms over his chest.

“So?” Taekwoon gestures at the picnic blanket as he sits in the chair and flips open his sketchbook. “Go on, sit.”

“Aren’t you gonna pose me?”

Taekwoon’s eyes rake over his body, and he resists the urge to shiver. “No. Sit however you like.”

He chooses to keep his shirt on—it’s baggy and loose and gapes at the neckline, so if it’s skin Taekwoon’s after then he can get his quota that way—and folds himself amongst the pillows, crossing his legs and leaning his chin on his hand. He’s quite close to Taekwoon, close enough to hear the scrape of his pencil across the page as he draws, and the noise is vaguely comforting.

“You never told me why you wanted me to model for you,” he mutters a while later, because he can feel himself falling asleep like this and wants to stay awake.

“You have a pretty face,” Taekwoon grunts, and when Jaehwan looks up in shock their eyes meet above the paper and he’s surprised to see pink on Taekwoon’s cheeks. “You didn’t hear that.”

He raises an eyebrow, but Taekwoon reaches out with a finger and smooshes it back down. “Um, yes I did. You said I have a pretty face. I think that’s worth repeating.”

“Shut up.”

“No, come on. I mean, I always knew I had a pretty face, but to hear it is kinda refreshing. Why else? Because you knew I had the body of a god—”

This time Taekwoon’s finger covers his lips, and he blinks, startled. “I said, shut up,” Taekwoon whispers, leaning down so their faces are close together. “I’m nearly done. Don’t make me give you devil horns.”

As tempting as that may be, he does as he’s told, and they sit there in silence until Taekwoon sighs and drops his pencil, which is Jaehwan’s sign to relax. He leans back on his hands and flicks his hair out of his eyes, smirking widely at Taekwoon. “So.”

“So?” Taekwoon doesn’t even look up from where he’s packing his pencils away.

“So… Can I see?”

It’s become a bit of a game to Jaehwan, now—every single time he asks if he can see the drawings, and every single time Taekwoon says no. He’s inspected the ones on Taekwoon’s walls, many, many times, but they’re either of inanimate objects or anonymous figures. He’s good, that’s for sure, but Jaehwan wants to see himself through Taekwoon’s eyes. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, but he wants to see it anyway.

Except this time Taekwoon looks up, cocks his head to the side, and after a moment says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Taekwoon says again, sliding off the chair and onto the ground. All of a sudden they’re very, very close, and Jaehwan’s too distracted to move. “Here.”

And he shoves his sketchbook into Jaehwan’s lap.

He doesn’t even hesitate. He’s been waiting so long for this that it’s impossible to resist temptation, so he flips open the sketchbook, shooting a cocky grin at Taekwoon that freezes on his face the moment he sees the first drawing.

It’s him, the first day he’d come—his shirtsleeves rolled up as he sits on the stool, looking down at the floor, legs spread. Even though the drawing doesn’t show his face, he looks almost otherworldly; the way his eyelashes fan against his cheeks is unreal, and he can’t help the gasp that escapes him. Surely this can’t be him? But there, on the opposite page; detail studies of his hands complete with the rings he always wears. It’s definitely him. The page after that, he’s shirtless, perched on that stool and gazing up at the viewer candidly. This time he nearly drops the sketchbook. This _can’t_ be him. He doesn’t look like that, surely? Surely his lips aren’t that full, his eyes that wide, his skin that smooth? The way Taekwoon’s drawn his expression is soft, but cheeky at the same time, and he marvels. The detail studies on this page are of his lips, and he turns the page quickly, not wanting to dwell on that for too long.

“Oh, Taekwoon,” he breathes, running his fingers over the paper lightly.

He is bathed in the light of the dying sun, blazing oranges and fierce pinks, illuminating his face in such a way that he almost looks unrecognisable. He’s shirtless, and Taekwoon has drawn the swells and dips of his body so carefully, but it’s his expression that leaves him breathless—heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted, looking like a debauched God. He can barely stand to look at it, that drawing. Is this really how Taekwoon sees him?

“I don’t look like this,” he murmurs as he looks up at Taekwoon, his heart racing out of his chest. “You made me look… immortal.”

“That’s how you look to me,” Taekwoon replies, his voice hoarse.

Jaehwan kisses him on impulse rather than anything else. His chest is kind of tight with the beautiful gift Taekwoon has given him in allowing him to see these drawings, and it’s this that makes him slide a hand in Taekwoon’s hair to drag him closer, their lips meeting like the feeling of coming home. That’s how it starts off, anyway. But then Taekwoon gasps and shudders and pushes him down, sliding his hands all over Jaehwan’s stomach like he’s been waiting so long to touch, and all of a sudden they’re not close enough. “Fuck,” he gasps as Taekwoon breaks the kiss to rip his own shirt over his head, his pale skin glowing under the luminous light of the moon. “Shit, Taekwoon.”

“I know,” Taekwoon says, kissing his way down Jaehwan’s neck, his hand palming Jaehwan’s cock through his jeans. “I know, I know, I know.”

They rut into each other furiously, the heat of their passion unleashed, weeks’ worth of frustration overflowing. Taekwoon makes the most beautiful noises Jaehwan has ever heard—soft, breathy moans that pitch into whines when Jaehwan flattens his tongue on the underside of his cock, his hand tangling in Jaehwan’s hair. When Taekwoon rolls him over and fucks into him, he sighs, the sound colouring the air with a strange melancholy beauty that has Jaehwan crying out, not with pain and not with pleasure but with an unnameable feeling that threatens to overwhelm him, overwhelm them both.

“You’re so beautiful,” Taekwoon whispers afterwards, trailing a hand down Jaehwan’s face softly.

Jaehwan thinks that he’s a liar, because Taekwoon has taken all the beauty in the world and swallowed it for himself. He is swollen with it; it’s bursting out of his pores, shining out of his eyes, and Jaehwan can hardly stand to look at him. “Says you,” he says, his throat dry. He catches Taekwoon’s hand and winds their fingers together. “I wish I could draw so I could show you how you looked right now.”

Taekwoon’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but then he smirks, and brings Jaehwan’s hand to his lips. “You can show me in other ways,” he says, and Jaehwan can’t hold back his smile.

//

They settle into an uneasy routine. Every few days Jaehwan will make his way to Taekwoon’s apartment after class, and they’ll sit and talk, or he’ll sit and Taekwoon will draw him, or Taekwoon will fall on him and pepper him with kisses until he’s breathless. There’s something about Taekwoon that’s so unbelievably intoxicating, that keeps him coming back, that keeps Jaehwan reaching for him constantly just to make sure he’s really, truly there.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

He’s sitting on the windowsill at Taekwoon’s apartment, joint in his hands, smoke curling lazily out of his mouth. Perhaps it’s the pot that makes him turn introspective and ask stupid questions, because Taekwoon’s answer is not going to be “with you.” He is a realist, and Jaehwan is a dreamer. Maybe that’s why they work so well together.

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon replies easily, coming up behind Jaehwan and laying a hand on his thigh. “Best-case scenario, a household name. Having exhibitions all over the world.”

“You want to be famous?”

Taekwoon parts his lips, an invitation, and Jaehwan places the joint there. “I have to be,” he says, simply, and the tip of the joint glows as orange as the reflection of the sun in his eyes.

Ordinarily Jaehwan wouldn’t push, because Taekwoon tends to shut down if he reveals too much of himself—it’s like a switch gets flicked inside him, and out of self-preservation he just presses his lips together and refuses to say anymore. This time, though, he looks out the window past Jaehwan and sighs, the smoke washing over them both. “I have to prove them wrong.”

Jaehwan doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t bother. Taekwoon’s eyes are closed, his face carefully blank like he’s expecting a blow, but instead Jaehwan just reaches out and touches his lips, parting them with a finger. Taekwoon leans into him, and Jaehwan shudders. This is enough, for now.

//

Every moment without Taekwoon drags, but when they are together time flies past so quickly it’s like Jaehwan blinks and months have passed. More and more of his things are accumulating at Taekwoon’s apartment, who barely notices—it’s so messy a hurricane could tear through and he probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference—but Jaehwan notices, and he knows this is a small victory.

“Don’t go to class,” Taekwoon mumbles as Jaehwan’s pulling on his jeans one morning.

More than anything Jaehwan wishes he had even a fraction of Taekwoon’s talent, because Taekwoon right now—reaching sleepily for Jaehwan, his hair falling in his eyes, lips kiss-plump from last night—is sublime, and his heart does a funny little wobble. He wants to say no. He _needs_ to say no. But he can’t say no to Taekwoon, he’d give Taekwoon the world if he asked, and so he sighs and flops back into bed. “You’re bad for me,” he giggles, wriggling closer to Taekwoon until he relents and holds him close.

“Yes,” Taekwoon says, so quietly Jaehwan barely hears him say it.

//

“You’re really drawing me now?” Jaehwan croaks, cracking open an eyelid.

Taekwoon’s just pinned him into the mattress and fucked him until he cried out for mercy, the way they both like it, and he’s still dripping with sweat and feeling disgusting—but over the noise of his heartbeat in his ears he can hear the drag of the pencil over the paper, that familiar soundtrack to their time together. “You look beautiful,” is all Taekwoon says.

“I’m covered in come. And sweat.” He opens both eyes fully and goes to sit up, but Taekwoon waves at him to say down. “I look revolting.”

“No, you look beautiful,” Taekwoon replies, firmly, in a tone that indicates there’s to be no more discussion on the subject.

Something in Jaehwan breaks, and in one fluid motion he sits up and grabs the pencil and sketchbook from Taekwoon’s hands, tossing them on the floor next to the bed. “Be here with me,” he says, only it comes out more like begging than he’d intended. “You go far away, sometimes. Come back.”

Taekwoon tries to resist as Jaehwan drags him down, but he gives in when Jaehwan flips their joined palms over and bites the inside of the wrist, tickling him. His smile is genuine, his moans authentic as Jaehwan tweaks his nipple, but there’s a darkness in his eyes that Jaehwan doesn’t like. Sometimes he feels like he’s fighting an uphill battle trying to get Taekwoon to see him as _him_ instead of the model. He doesn’t know if Taekwoon can tell the difference.

“Asshole,” Taekwoon grumbles disingenuously as Jaehwan reaches down between them to stroke him into hardness. “That drawing was going to be good.”

“They’re all good,” Jaehwan chides, forcing Taekwoon’s chin around so they’re making eye contact, watching as Taekwoon’s face creases up as he moans and arches up into him.

Taekwoon fucks him again, bending him over the desk and taking him that way, and the whole time Jaehwan cries out and gives into the pleasure he can’t help but think that the very thing that brought them together will kill them someday, if he lets it.

(He won’t let it.)

//

As the end of semester approaches, Taekwoon gets more and more stressed. It’s alarming to see, considering how well put-together he normally is; he barely sleeps and spends most of his time wandering restlessly around his apartment, furiously scribbling in his sketchbook. Jaehwan doesn’t know the details of his final assignment, only that he has to create pieces for a solo exhibition, and apparently there’s a theme. A theme that does not agree with Taekwoon, because by the time the exhibition is nearly upon them, he has a small pile of drawings that he hates and keeps threatening to burn.

“They’re not that bad,” Jaehwan says gently, flicking through them. “In fact, they’re really fucking good. I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem—” Taekwoon starts, and when he turns to Jaehwan his pupils are dilated wide, probably from the sleep deprivation. “The problem is they’re not of you.”

That startles him into silence for a moment before he places both hands on Taekwoon’s shoulders and guides him towards the bed. “You can’t draw me for the rest of eternity, you know,” he says gently, even though that’s exactly what he’d like.

Taekwoon acquiesces and gets into bed, but the movement is miserable. When he curls up under the covers he looks so small that Jaehwan barely recognises him. “They’re not… It’s not just that they’re not you. They have nothing to do with you. They’re… passionless.”

Jaehwan can’t say he understands, but he holds Taekwoon until he falls asleep anyway, his mind moving at a million miles an hour. Hakyeon is studying creative writing at uni—Jaehwan doesn’t know how he ends up surrounded by creative types, since his degree in archeology is anything but—and he’d explained, some time ago now, that whenever he was forced to confine to the restrictions set out by the professors he felt so stifled he could barely breathe. Perhaps that’s how Taekwoon’s feeling. Maybe Jaehwan knows how to fix it.

//

Even after all of that, Taekwoon gets a fantastic mark on his solo exhibition (as Jaehwan knew he would), and things return to normal. As normal as things can possibly be, that is.

“Hey,” Jaehwan says one day when he lets himself into Taekwoon’s apartment with the key that Taekwoon has just recently given him. “Taekwoon, listen, I have an idea.”

“Tell it to me while I draw,” Taekwoon says, and he grins wickedly. “Take your clothes off.”

Taekwoon’s drawn him in various stages of undress before—too many times after sex Jaehwan’s dozed off and woken up to the furious scribble of his pencil on paper—but this is different, this is like how it was in the beginning, and he falters. “I thought you didn’t want to see me naked.”

“Guess what, I’m a liar.” Taekwoon rolls his eyes and grabs Jaehwan by the collar, drags him closer, kisses him so deep they’re both breathless by the end of it. “Hurry up.”

But Taekwoon, ever-impatient Taekwoon, doesn’t even give him a chance to undress himself. He does it himself, and when Jaehwan’s naked and burning up under the lust in his eyes, he reaches out and splays a hand on Jaehwan’s trembling belly, calming him. “Tell me the idea,” he says, softly, and Jaehwan grits his teeth. He’s already getting hard.

“Touch me,” he begs, leaning forward to kiss Taekwoon.

“Tell me the idea, and then I’ll draw you, and then maybe I’ll touch you.”

Ah, he loves and loathes when Taekwoon gets in one of these moods—teasing, endless teasing, bringing Jaehwan close to release and then pulling away, watching him writhe and beg for more, always wanting more. He fights through the fog of lust in his brain to focus on his words, trying desperately to resist the temptation to sink to his knees right there. It’s hard. It’s damn hard, when Taekwoon’s raising an eyebrow at him, waiting. “Um, I thought, I thought it would be cool idea if you maybe had another solo exhibition? By yourself? With drawings that you choose, this time. You know. That’s what artists do—fuck.”

He’s cut off by Taekwoon trailing the tip of one finger up his erect cock and has to bite his lip hard to stop a moan from escaping. Shit. Taekwoon knows exactly the ways to get him unravelled, does it every time, and yet he keeps coming back for more. He _loves_ it. He loves him.

He loves him.

“An exhibition?” Taekwoon says the words like they taste funny, but his eyes are widening. “A real… I hadn’t thought of that. I hadn’t…” When Taekwoon looks at Jaehwan again, he sees him properly, looks beneath the veneer of model and sees the human underneath, and the expression on his face has Jaehwan’s heart slowing to a stop inside his chest. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

And then he’s falling on Jaehwan, pushing him up against the nearest wall, knocking over an easel and sending pencils scattering everywhere. Jaehwan doesn’t even have time to comprehend, though. Taekwoon’s words are snarling through his veins, choking his heart, turning him blind to everything except this: them. They are eternal, and he sobs with pleasure when Taekwoon turns him around, pushing him up against the wall and fucking into him fiercely. Taekwoon loves him, he loves him, he loves him, and if Taekwoon loves him then maybe things will turn out okay.

//

The difference between the planning for this exhibition—as yet unnamed, because Taekwoon is too busy gathering drawings from his portfolio to even think about a name—and planning for the last is black and white. Whereas before Taekwoon was manic with dread, this time he’s manic with excitement, and sometimes he wakes Jaehwan up in the middle of the night to ask his opinion on an idea for it all.

(Jaehwan barely goes home to his own apartment anymore. Taekwoon doesn’t seem to notice.)

It’s the most animated Jaehwan has ever seen him, and it would be alarming if he wasn’t swept up in planning, too. It was his idea, so he feels attached to it; as time goes on it evolves, becomes a passion project for the both of them, something tangible and real that he’s helped create.

(When they’re out scouting galleries, it starts to rain, and as they sprint together for shelter Jaehwan looks at Taekwoon and thinks that he’s never truly lived until now.)

One morning Taekwoon wakes Jaehwan up with a cup of coffee and an announcement that he’s come up with the name of the exhibition. “It’s called _Nothing Left to Lose_ ,” he murmurs, and his eyes are dark again. He is very far away, somewhere lost in his own head, and Jaehwan can’t reach him.

“It’s a beautiful name,” he replies, honestly. “But… why?”

Taekwoon leans into him, seeking comfort. “I told you. I have to make it. I have to prove them wrong. I have nothing left to lose, now.”

Jaehwan tightens his arms automatically out of fear. “What about me?”

“I won’t lose you,” Taekwoon says, a reassurance. He tilts his head up and kisses Jaehwan so sweetly, lying down with him and touching him so gently he nearly forgets.

(He doesn’t, can’t, won’t forget how Taekwoon avoids the question, though.)

//

The opening of the exhibition goes well, as Jaehwan had predicted it would; all of their friends turn up and make the appropriate noises at the drawings—although in this case the appropriate noises seem to be laughter, since of course Jaehwan is the model in the great majority of them, and in a good handful he’s stark naked. Before Taekwoon he would have cared about things like that, but now he just finds it amusing. It’s just skin, after all, and the way Taekwoon looks at him, at the drawings, makes it all worth it. He has never seen Taekwoon glow like he does that night. It’s intoxicating and unforgettable, and Jaehwan realises he’s never been this happy before, and he probably never will be again.

Things start to unravel—although he doesn’t know it—when Taekwoon comes home one day, waving the mail in the air with a sigh. “Do the bills ever stop?”

“You sound middle-aged,” Jaehwan says, sleepily, since he’d been napping in a small patch of sunlight that falls across the bed in the middle of the day.

“I am middle aged, compared to—” Taekwoon is in the middle of saying before he cuts himself off.

It takes Jaehwan a few sleep-addled moments to realise that Taekwoon’s not talking, and then a few more to struggle onto his elbows to see what the issue is. He’s standing there, holding a letter, and the expression on his face is one Jaehwan has never seen before. He looks shocked.

“What’s wrong?” he says, with alarm, getting up properly and rushing over. “Taekwoon, what’s up?”

“Someone wants to buy one of my pieces,” Taekwoon says faintly, handing over the letter and staggering past Jaehwan to sit on the bed heavily. He still looks shell-shocked, like he cannot believe his eyes, and neither can Jaehwan when he reads the letter. “They want to buy my…”

“It’s the sunset piece!” Jaehwan blurts when he reads the letter. “They want to buy the sunset piece for—oh.”

He turns to look at Taekwoon, his eyes wide. Taekwoon looks back up at him with an equally as vacant expression. “Yes,” he murmurs, and he sounds hoarse. “Yes, they…”

The price listed on the letter could pay Jaehwan’s school fees for one entire term, and he knows for a fact no one has offered to buy Taekwoon’s art before—let alone offer to buy it for this much. He sits on the bed next to Taekwoon, and for a moment they just stay there, staring into space. This could change _everything_. He has seen how Taekwoon struggles to make rent some months (and the one time Jaehwan had brought up asking his parents, Taekwoon had flown into such a rage he’d regressed into not talking for two days), how he wears his clothes over and over—including that jumper that still has a coke stain on it—and how he practically lives off ramen.

“Don’t forget me when you’re famous,” he whispers eventually, linking their hands together and squeezing.

“I won’t,” Taekwoon replies, but he doesn’t squeeze back.

//

Things snowball beyond what Jaehwan could ever have predicted.

It starts small, of course. These things often do. After the sunset drawing sells (“aren’t you sad to see it go?” Jaehwan had asked as Taekwoon carefully wrapped it up. Taekwoon had just shrugged and said, “I can always draw another”) word somehow gets around about Taekwoon’s exhibition and soon he’s receiving offers from _everywhere_. The university sends someone round to write an article about them for the newspaper, and she thinks Jaehwan is Taekwoon for a good ten minutes before Jaehwan wakes up enough to realise why she’s asking all these questions and backtracks horribly. A local gallery calls and offers their space to Taekwoon if he wants to run another exhibition after this one. Taekwoon’s apartment turns into a maze of bubble wrap and tissue paper and boxes, his easels set to the side, forgotten.

Worst of all, though, is how he slowly stops drawing Jaehwan.

At first it’s because he has no time. In the evenings, when they can finally breathe again, he’ll take out his sketchpad and draw a quick sketch of their linked hands on Jaehwan’s chest, or a sliver of Jaehwan’s face, illuminated by the moonlight. But then he doesn’t bother with even that, just curls up and goes to sleep when they’re finished having sex, and Jaehwan is too proud to beg. He feels like Taekwoon is slowly slipping away from him. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

//

“Stay still,” Taekwoon suddenly barks, and Jaehwan jumps. “Don’t move an inch.”

From where he’s crouched amongst boxes, a delicious shiver of anticipation runs down Jaehwan’s spine. He knows what those words mean. He hasn’t heard them for weeks, and what used to be a chore has become something he longs for with a passion he didn’t realise he harboured—he misses being drawn, misses Taekwoon taking him apart with his eyes, missing being scrutinised. He even misses the pain, a little bit, because afterwards Taekwoon would always make it better.

“Can I at least put this plate down?” he hisses, his arm wavering in the air.

Taekwoon grunts, a sign Jaehwan takes as a yes, and with a sigh of pure relief he lowers the bubble-wrapped plate into the box and settles back into a crouch. The money Taekwoon’s now earning from the sale of his drawings has allowed him to move out of the tiny, box-like apartment he’s been living in for as long as Jaehwan’s known him. He is, of course, happy for Taekwoon, happy that they’re moving forward, but desperately sad to see this place go. There’s so many memories etched into the air here that he’s choked with them whenever he breathes, both a blessing and a curse.

This time when Taekwoon lets him get up, he wordlessly tears the paper from his sketchbook and offers it to him, a gift. He takes it with a raised eyebrow. Taekwoon has never just _given_ him a drawing before—he’s had to beg, or sometimes even squirrel little ones away when he’s not looking. This is new, and when he looks down at the paper, he instinctually knows why.

He looks just as ethereal as Taekwoon always draws him, his flaws gone, larger-than-life in the best possible way. But the expression on his face is pensive, sad, and with him crouched amongst moving boxes that are almost as big as him—he inhales raggedly, trying not to show Taekwoon his hands are shaking. This drawing feels like a goodbye, even though he knows it’s not. It can’t be. He looks up at Taekwoon and makes himself smile, makes himself draw Taekwoon in for a kiss, goes through the motions even though he is terribly afraid.

//

“It’s just for a little while,” Taekwoon is saying, hands up in a placating gesture like Jaehwan’s about to trample him. “Until I get settled in the new apartment.”

Jaehwan wants to fucking scream. “I’m your _boyfriend!”_ he snarls, and he sees Taekwoon’s eyes widen. They’ve not used that term before, even if that’s what they are. “I’m meant to be moving in with you, Taekwoon. This was meant to be a step forward for us. Together. You can’t just… kick me out.”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Taekwoon says, capturing Jaehwan’s hands in his and bringing them close to his chest. “I just need to get settled in the new space, do some drawings there. Make it my own.”

 _That’s the point of being with someone,_ he wants to say. _You share._ But getting through to Taekwoon like this, when his lips are pressed into a line and his eyes are dark, is pointless. Jaehwan knows he won’t listen. It’s like talking to a brick wall. “Fine,” he says, but he takes a step back and pulls his hands free of Taekwoon’s, holding them close to his own chest like Taekwoon has physically hurt him (he has, he has, his heart is aching). “Whatever. Just call me when you need a fucking model, since that’s all I am to you, apparently.”

“Jaehwan, that’s not—” he hears Taekwoon say, before he slams the door behind him.

That night, he stands on the balcony of his own tiny apartment and burns the drawing Taekwoon had given him just a few weeks before. He watches the ashes float away in the wind and feels oddly empty.

//

This is how it ends.

Taekwoon does call, but Jaehwan ignores it, lets himself feel some smug satisfaction at getting this one over on him before he calls back hours later. Taekwoon picks up on the first ring, and he feels vaguely guilty. “Hey,” Taekwoon says, like it hasn’t been two weeks since they last talked, like Jaehwan hasn’t been crying himself to sleep every night because he’s so afraid he’s lost the one thing in life that he cared about. “Can you come over? I want to draw you. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Jaehwan makes himself reply through numb lips, a lie and the truth all at once.

When Taekwoon opens the door, Jaehwan narrows his eyes, even though he’s climbing the steps to draw Taekwoon into a hug like it’s been hours since he left, not weeks. Taekwoon’s wearing new clothes, and he’s got a haircut. He smells different. He _is_ different.

“I have a whole new studio, now,” Taekwoon says quietly, leading Jaehwan to the separate room set up for just that and gesturing at it. Just like his old apartment, there’s drawings plastered all over the walls, and here and there Jaehwan can pick out his own familiar face, scattered amongst the others. There’s a stool, a new, fancy one, positioned in front of the huge window that looks down upon the city below—because Taekwoon’s new apartment is in a high-rise, of course.

Jaehwan turns to compliment him, to say the right things, and jumps out of his skin with fright because Taekwoon is _right there_. He’s done that a few times, snuck up on Jaehwan; before he would squeal and smack Taekwoon playfully, or tickle him in revenge, and they’d end up fucking on the floor like animals. This time, though, he just takes an unsteady step back. Taekwoon looks anguished, like something’s tearing him up inside, and when he opens his mouth Jaehwan starts shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he says, because he knows Taekwoon. He knows Taekwoon better than he knows himself, now, and he knows that Taekwoon’s outgrowing him. He doesn’t want to hear it. He feels so inadequate, standing there amongst all that opulence and brightness, wearing the same clothes he’s always worn, his ratty backpack at his feet. Once that was good enough for Taekwoon. It seems it isn’t anymore.

“Jaehwan, I—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he pleads, taking another step back and then another until he’s pressed up against that window.

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon says, and he keeps coming. “Listen—”

It’s out of desperation that Jaehwan kisses him—desperation and a little bit of hope, hope that’s quickly misplaced as Taekwoon arches up into him, his eyes fluttering shut. He tastes like despair and pot and someone else. It turns Jaehwan’s stomach. He takes his anger out on Taekwoon, tearing his new shirt, scratching his nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. It’s never been like this between them before; there’s been pain, but it was always tempered with love, always soothed with kisses afterwards. This is different. This is him whimpering as Taekwoon strips him, this is him crying out as Taekwoon fucks into him, his breath huffing down Jaehwan’s spine. He wants this, he wants this so badly, and therein lies the problem—he wanted too much.

He opens his eyes right as Taekwoon comes inside him, and through the reflection of the glass of the window he sees him with his back arched, eyes closed, and nearly whimpers. It’s this that brings him crashing towards his own orgasm, too; when he’s finished he realises he’s crying, but he doesn’t care. They were so good. He should have known.

They dress in silence, not saying a word, not looking at each other. A couple of times Jaehwan sees, from the corner of his eye, Taekwoon open his mouth like he wants to say something, but he always closes it again resolutely. Jaehwan feels more naked than he’s ever been, standing there like that. It’s a horrible feeling.

“I can’t be your model if you don’t love me,” he says, and he’s shocked at how cold his voice is.

Taekwoon blinks. “I…”

Jaehwan doesn’t wait for the excuses that will surely come—excuses he knows, because he knows Taekwoon so well, now. _I do love you, I just need some time apart. Things have changed since I moved in, it doesn’t feel right. Seeing you here is throwing me off._ They’re nothing but lies. Maybe their whole relationship was a farce from the beginning; maybe all he was to Taekwoon was a muse rather than a partner. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t hate himself enough to find out.

Before he leaves he walks around the room and tears down all the drawings of his own face, shoving them in his pockets carelessly. He half-expects Taekwoon to stop him, but instead when he turns to look he sees him standing there, crying silently, his arms wrapped around himself. Part of Jaehwan wants to go to him, to comfort him, but he knows if he does it will only be a matter of time before Taekwoon finds someone else who sets him on fire from the inside out, and he does not want to see that.

Outside he unfurls his fist and watches the paper scatter down the street. Some land underfoot and get trampled by the people walking past. Some blow onto the road to be run over by cars. And some fly up high towards the sun, sinking low in the sky, turning the whole world orange and pink and reminding Jaehwan of a time long ago, when he was naive enough to believe that love was all he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is a slightly different style to my usual stuff, and sorry if it's crap or whatever, but I was in a really weird mood when I wrote this and I just needed to get it out of me. and this is how it came out, over the course of two nights. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> also I know nothing about art buying and selling so it's probably all wrong forgive me


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